


Don't Open the Window

by makena



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Illness, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Character, soft boys have sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9849968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makena/pseuds/makena
Summary: Josh likes looking at the moon. Tyler is bad at making hot chocolate.





	

The window is open. It shouldn’t be. It’s a late night in January, and the coldness being let into Josh’s bedroom feels almost corporeal. There are goosebumps on his arms.

He’s sitting on his bed, crisscross-applesauce, looking out at the streetlights and the moon. Light pollution makes the sky a strange colour.

Sitting next to him is Tyler. Josh doesn’t look away from the window, but he knows that Tyler has gotten bored of the night sky and resorted to his phone from the white glow that casts over them suddenly. He doesn’t mind, he knows Tyler has a short attention span. He knows Tyler doesn’t like to get too caught up in his own thoughts. 

“You know the window doesn’t have to be open for you to look out of it.” Tyler’s not annoyed, just amused.

“Yeah, but then you can’t smell the air or hear the traffic or anything. It’s not the same.”

“Well, I’m cold.”

Josh grins. “You’re sitting on a blanket. My hoodie’s right there, if you want it.”

Tyler grumbles. 

Josh doesn’t close the window, and Tyler doesn’t put on the hoodie.

They just continue to sit together in silence, one watching the moon and the other scrolling aimlessly through his phone. Okay, maybe he sneaks a few peeks at the moon, too. It  _ does _ look pretty cool, but Tyler’s not a sap about it like Josh is. It’s just a cold, dead rock floating in space.

They lean against each other. This is comfortable for them. They’re best friends. They’re used to each other’s idiosyncrasies, appreciate them.  

  
  


Tyler eventually announces that he wants hot chocolate, and since this seems as good an idea as any, they shuffle off the bed and make their way down to the kitchen. 

Tiptoeing down the stairs, trying to remember which ones creak, they are brought back to their childhood. These days, their problems are far weightier than creaky steps. It’s nice to pretend, though, that things are as simple as they used to be. There is an unspoken agreement between the two of them to cherish these moments where they are alone and free of the world’s judgement. In these moments, they swing tightly clasped hands between them, they twirl around in circles with their eyes closed, they watch the moon, they watch each other.

Tyler vaults himself onto the kitchen counter as Josh looks through cabinets. They decide to do the job properly, with a saucepan of milk on the stove and cocoa powder and sugar.  While waiting for it to heat up, they find themselves again sitting crisscross-applesauce together, this time on top of the dining room table. 

Facing each other, they arrange themselves with straight faces, but as soon as their eyes meet, they burst into quiet giggles. Their hands cover their mouths in an effort to not wake up Josh’s family, asleep upstairs. Their eyes smile at each other.

By the time they make it back to the stove, the hot chocolate seems to be overcooked. Thick and muddy and spicy, they hazard a taste each before coming to the conclusion that it’s pretty much inedible. Instead of pouring it down the sink, Tyler comes up with the -in his eyes, bright- idea to “water the plants in the garden with it.” 

Josh rolls his eyes. “That’s the stupidest idea ever. They’re all gonna die.” And yet, he allows himself and the saucepan to be steered out into the backyard. It’s cold and dark, but he’s got a decent view of the moon.

“Tyler,” he demands, after appreciating the sky for a moment, “you kept complaining about being cold in my room. Why would you take us out here?” Josh has goosebumps on his arms again. He could go back inside. He doesn’t.

Tyler ignores the question and busies himself with the saucepan held against his chest. He flounders around with it, eventually dumping it unceremoniously behind a bush. Sticky and grainy, it coats the leaves. “There. I bet some squirrel or something’s gonna be happy when they find that.” Josh rolls his eyes again as Tyler walks over to him.

They stay outside a moment too long, sock feet on cold pavement, an owl cooing in the distance. Their shoulders knock together. 

  
  


Upon returning to Josh’s bedroom, they realize that the window never got closed. The room isn’t much warmer than it was outside. Tyler closes it, groaning.

Josh just throws him a blanket. It lands on his head and drapes over his shoulders like a ghost. Josh snorts, laying down on the bed. He shuffles out of his jeans and curls up under the comforter.

“Come on,” he whines, when Tyler doesn’t move. “I’m tired.” His voice is muffled by his pillow. Tyler remains a statue. Tyler may as well be a statue. “Join me, love,” he jokes, “I need you to come keep me warm.” 

Tyler laughs at that, giving in and flopping down next to Josh. Grinning, he gets under the blanket and kicks off his jeans. They may as well be lovers.

He stills, mumbles, “Close your eyes.” Josh obeys, even though his head is under the blanket already. He can feel Tyler shuffle around as he takes off his binder, pulling his big t-shirt back on again after. 

They lie there, side by side, as Tyler takes deep breaths in and lets them out. Josh breathes along with him until their chests are rising and falling in synch. 

This is comfortable for them. Josh lets himself drift off.

The room is still cold. In their sleep, they wriggle closer.

 

______

  
  


The window is open again. It shouldn’t be. Tyler’s back sitting on Josh’s bed, a week later, and Josh is gone. Not  _ gone, _ just downstairs, looking for his charger or something. The sudden solitude, though, forces Tyler to sit with his thoughts, and oh, if only this house had more than two stories. 

A fall from the window would probably only warrant a broken leg or something. The pain wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome, but he has other ways of achieving that that aren’t so attention-grabbing. (Josh knows about it, though, just  _ knew _ . Tyler doesn’t know whether or not he’s relieved.)

Josh returns with his charger and a bag of skittles. Seeming to sense that Tyler’s in a bad space, he shuts the window before flopping onto the bed. 

“Brought you some candy.”

Tyler nods once. 

Josh sits up. “You good?”

Tyler nods once.

Josh leans against the wall, studying. “You take your meds this morning?”

Tyler nods once. Josh acquiesces. 

  
  


Tyler eats the skittles as he watches Josh tap out a beat on his thighs. They don’t taste particularly good, he’s not enjoying them, but it’s something to do with himself. Monotonous actions that bring about sensory gratification. 

His mouth feels too sweet, almost bitter. His fingers are sticky. After a while, nothing tastes good, nothing tastes like anything, saliva like acid. He keeps eating them. There’s a sore forming on the tip of his tongue.

  
  


They lie down together like they always do. Josh kicks off his jeans, closes his eyes when Tyler takes off his binder, breathes with him, drifts off. Tyler watches him. 

Everything’s too hot. Tyler’s limbs are itchy and damp and somewhere inside his chest is a curling flame. Opening Josh’s bedroom window brings no relief. He’s shivering, but the harsh winter air doesn’t cool him down, only makes him feel rough and sticky and taut. It’s a kind of discomfort that’s in his bones more than it’s in his skin. 

He cries.

  
  


Josh wakes to soft shaking and patch of something wet on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he mumbles. “Y’okay, dude?”

Tyler just curls into him, lanky arms reaching across Josh’s chest to squeeze him. He squeezes Tyler back. 

“What’s up, man? You wanna talk about it?”

Tyler takes a deep breath. “I just-” He swallows. “‘M so tired. Everything’s so hard. I hate it, I-” He breaks back into sobs, letting Josh shift them so he’s being held. 

“I know,”Josh whispers. “It’s okay.” 

And so they lie together, hands grasped tightly, Tyler pressing the blanket to his chest. This has happened many times, roles sometimes reversed, and they know that often the only thing to be done is to hold each other, to listen to heartbeats and breaths and small soothing words. Sleep will come eventually, and if it does not, morning will.


End file.
